


By Any Other Name

by Sub_Rosa



Category: Other(s) - Fandom, Princess: the Hopeful
Genre: F/F, Not Canon Compliant, Other, Secrets, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-21
Updated: 2017-01-21
Packaged: 2018-09-18 23:07:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9406976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sub_Rosa/pseuds/Sub_Rosa
Summary: "You're lucky, Rose," I said to her, rolling over in bed. "Lucky not to have a past life to remember. It can't bring you anything good."Next to me, she pulled away like I'd slapped her. Maybe I might as well have.





	

It was already late into the night by the time I arrived at the warehouse, the sun hidden behind clouds and the horizon. It was only six o’ clock, but that was winter for you. Far behind me, the graveyard was still lit up with mourners, clustered around a grave of freshest marble. All around them, ruined tombstones and memorials were left out of sight and out of mind, rotten and mildewing with neglect and moss. I’d seen them all and knew them by name, if not by face.

The warehouse was dark and quiet from the outside, but I knew that didn’t necessarily mean much. James was waiting at the side of the door. His tattered suit was two sizes too small, by the looks of it, or maybe two sizes too large, or maybe he’d had to borrow one half from a shriveled grandfather and one half from a pillar of a father. Not his best look - but then, none of us were at our best. He twirled an impossibly-tarnished golden key around one finger, staring off into the distance.

“Peripety,” he said, haltingly, as he heard my approach. “I’m glad you came.”

He moved to hug me, about as stiffly as he sounded, and for once I didn’t stop him.

“Of course I came,” I said. I wanted to be insulted that anyone would think I _wouldn’t_ come - but I was too sad and ashamed to even think of getting mad, or saying a word. “How could I not?”

“You have a lot on your plate, Peripety.”

I didn’t deny that, but pulled away to approach the door he had been guarding. “Are the others here?”

“Yeah… you’re not late, but… you’re one of the last ones. I think they’ve been waiting for you.”

“They shouldn’t have.”

The door eased open at my touch. On the inside, the warehouse should have been inviting and warm, full of light and life, but no. Only soft voices and murmurs under the pallor of silence, and drawn and weary faces, stained with tears. People were everywhere, my fellow Hopeful and Nobles, but only a few of them could work up the desire to wear the crown for this meeting. There was a boy, in the corner, wearing a Shikigami as part of his blue-and-white Barrier Jacket. He certainly stood out among everyone else in somber black.

No-one noticed me as I made my way to the front of the room, stopping by an unattended snack table. It was honestly refreshing to be unseen, amongst these people that I knew by face, if not by name.

At the front of the room, there was - well, I guess you could call it a shrine. That seemed too big of a word, but it was a shrine for a woman who was larger than life, so I supposed it was okay. There was a photo, surrounded by vases of lavender, of a woman with a shock of mauve hair, smiling for a camera and wearing an incredibly ornate (but ruffled) gown. Like she had been going to a ball, before being interrupted by sudden onset untidiness. The crown on her brow was studded with gems as purple as the flowers we had left for her. Purple had always been her favorite color.

I stared at the photograph and swallowed heavily. It was easier to look at the printing errors and creases of the photo-paper than to look the image of my mentor in the eye.

_I miss you._

_Don’t go._

_Why did you have to leave?_

_Why can’t there be a reason?_

A hand brushed up against my shoulder, and I whirled around; Charitas was standing there, arm outstretched.

“Wha - oh.”

“Peripety,” Charitas said. Her arm trembled. “I’m so, so sorry… sorry for your loss.”

_‘Your loss.’ You say that like it’s not your loss, too. Because you didn’t care about her as much as I did._

I shook off the needless and dark thoughts. “Thank you.”

“If there’s anything I can do to help…”

“It’s fine,” I said. Because I didn’t want to depend on _her_ for help. Maybe to depend on anyone, anymore.

From inside one of my pockets, I fished for a photograph of my own. It was underneath a chewed-on pencil and a flash drive, and much worse for wear, but I pulled it out anyways. People should have seen it, I thought.

The same woman from the first photograph, older and wearier in flesh, looked at the camera from behind a roughshod wooden desk. Her hair was only brown, and untamed, and the olive of her face was illuminated by the sterile light of her desktop computer.

_Chesed… Mrs Schmidt..._

I left it by the vases, balanced between a pair of the ceramic creations. They were Mrs Schmidt’s, and poorly home-made, when I knew she could have stretched herself and done better. If she had wanted to.

“We shouldn’t use our powers for things like that,” she had said to me once.

“For what?” I had asked her. “For art? For craftsmanship? I know there are plenty of people who would disagree with that assessment. I’m… not sure I don’t disagree with that, myself.”

She just shook her head.

“I mean, if we can make amazing art, and really touch people, why shouldn’t we?”

“It’s not the quality that’s the problem,” she had said gently. “It’s the work that goes into it. If you’re so high on Light that you can crank your art out without even working on it or thinking about it, then your art is worthless.”

“Ms Schmidt!” I had said, halfway scandalized. “Don’t say things like that! Now I know you’re just exaggerating.”

She just laughed, and laughed, and laughed. She was… she had always had the gentlest laugh. And sometimes she said the meanest things, but it was never to the wrong people. Did that make her even meaner? I forgave her, even though it wasn’t me who was up to judge her.

I couldn’t stand to touch the snacks after all, no matter how empty my stomach was.

And when the last of us finally trickled in through the door, James followed after them, closing the door behind him.

“I know you’ve all heard the bad news already,” he said, his voice a little too loud for the enclosed space of the warehouse - a glorified warehouse, decorated like a palace, but still only a warehouse. “So I’ll start with some good news. We have three new Hopeful among our number.”

There was a bit of hesitant clapping, from people that hadn’t known Ms Schmidt well, if at all.

“I trust you’ll treat them as well as you’d treat me.” A pause. “Well, as well as you would treat me if you actually liked me. But I’m afraid we’re here to talk about the bad news.”

Someone called from the back of the room. “Was it foul play?” I glared at them.

“No. No it was not,” James said sternly.

“I don’t believe it.”

This was another person, now.

“Join the club.”

Another person.

“Bad things happen, sometimes,” James said, pretending to be wise. “We all know that. It’s easy to think that - that Darkness is the only reason bad things happen - but it just isn’t. Chesed died, and it was an accident. It was only an accident.”

I had checked. And double checked, and triple checked. It was only an accident. A hit and run. And now there was a body rotting in a grave, surrounded by children who had never loved that body while it was alive, and a husband who had used that body as if it hadn’t been alive, and attended by a minister who was more interested in getting home to sleep as if things would be different when he woke up in the morning.

And us - her fellow Hopeful, the only people who had loved her and _seen_ her - couldn’t even look to the face of her gravestone.

It was easy to be bitter.

“I thought we might - well, she was always the person who would eulogize, if she could, but I guess it’s up to us to eulogize for her.”

The boy in the blue and white went first - and he was silent for a few moments, before a squeaky voice rang out. It was the Shikigami he was wearing.

“Chesed was - she was so nice to me.”

The Shikigami burst into sopping tears, and the boy stepped down. Shame painted across his face.

I didn’t want to know what his shame might be.

James was slow to talk, on his part. Speaking of Chesed, the woman who had saved him so many years ago, before he had Blossomed into a Hopeful himself. She hadn’t saved him from monsters, but from a life lived without life.

And Charitas, who said her piece like she was embarrassed to be speaking at all, about the woman who _really had_ saved her from monsters; the monsters under her bed.

It hurt to think of Ms. Schmidt like this.

“I don’t know what I can say that hasn’t already been said,” I croaked, when my turn finally came around. “You all - most of you - you knew Chesed. She was always putting herself out there, trying to be a rock for us.” _Even when it wasn’t wanted._ “She was - she was so sweet. Even before I met her as Chesed, she was sweet.”

The crowd muttered in confusion.

“I knew her in her civilian life, even before she Blossomed. She was the best - the best teacher I’d ever had, and I don’t care if that’s saying too much.”

I thought about most of her students, who had hated her, and thought she was uniquely boring.

“She’s going to be remembered, and cherished. Not just by us, the people she lifted up as a Hopeful. Take some comfort in that, I think.

“And - don’t wait for her. Don’t wait for her to come back.” I closed my eyes, and remembered everything she had ever said. “She wouldn’t want you to do that. She always wanted a clean break, at the end of things.

“I’m sorry.”

It was a pitiful goodbye speech. A pitiful memorial. I didn’t care.

“She would have wanted us to celebrate her life. So celebrate.”

I stepped down, and then another Hopeful stood up to praise Ms. Schmidt. And then I was gone, my mind in a fog.

Charitas touched my shoulder to grab my attention, to reach out to me, and I paid her no mind, and allowed the distance to yearn between us.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes, when I looked out at the clustered, pulsing throng of bodies, I thought they were more like an ocean than an actual crowd. Deeper and more shoreless than any other body of water.

The memorial was over, and so was the meeting, and we’d locked ourselves away. The curtains were closed, the doors were locked - the clock on the wall was swimming like it had been trapped in chrome jell-o.

The crowd around me was almost kaleidoscopic in its intensity, my fellow Hopeful mingling about and communicating with a ferocity rarely seen. Most of them were Transformed, now, wearing the crowns that cast us in brilliantly colored leotards and coats and robes and dresses and capes and gowns and suits and and uniforms. Garments from every walk of life that revealed our inner selves.

Our hearts were on our sleeves. Literally.

People were watching me. Maybe because I wasn’t Transformed, as the others were. Maybe they were too afraid to talk to me directly. So I watched them back. The hubbub of voices which battered against my ears like the sound of the tides were just a distraction, compared to the things I could see in other people.

People were so complicated. It made them more interesting than anything else. It made them deep, and lovable, and beautiful.

It was why I wanted to protect them. So I watched the crowd, and I reminded myself why I wanted to protect them.

And that was the first time I ever saw Rose.

She was a red-haired girl, the Yang to my blue-haired Yin, wearing a rumpled, filthy, and too-large hoodie. Leaning against the snack table, doing her best to ignore everyone, and generally looking miserable.

And I had absolutely no idea who she was.

_“We have three new Hopeful among our number.”_

She was probably one of the newbies. Or maybe she’d come in from some corner of the state to pay her respects to Ms. Schmidt. But I hadn’t seen her speak for the dead.

I made my way over to her. She looked like shit; her eyes seemed bruised, but a second glance showed that she just had bags under her eyes. She was staring off into space. One hand tapped an off-beat rhythm on the table.

“Hey, I haven’t seen you around here before. Wish I could have met you under better circumstances, but…”

I extended a hand out to her. It took her a moment, for her eyes to clear and for her to notice that I was standing in front of her. Like she was reaching into a bear-trap or a toilet, she took my hand in hers, and shook. It was clammy and cold.

She was shivering. She barely even opened her ruby eyes to look at me.

“What’s your name?”

The girl shifted uncomfortably. “Rose. What’s it to you?”

“Nice, is that your civvy name or your Princess name? Anyways, I thought you looked lonely.”

“Princess?” she asked, tracking the motion of my excitable hands. “Do I look like a princess to you?”

“Well, yeah.” I looked her over, up and down. Her clothes weren’t quite just rumpled - they were bulging, like something was _in-between_ her and her clothes. “Are you new to all of this?”

“Define ‘this.’”

Her voice was a little bit off, rough and throaty.

“You know. Quick question, who invited you?”

“What’s-his-face,” she frowned, angry with someone. Maybe herself. “Uh, the dude with the Keyblade knock-off?”

I giggled a little, even though I didn’t want to, and turned away from Rose. By the dance floor, I could see that James was well past inebriation.

“Yeah, that’s James.” I rolled my eyes. “Between you and me spends so much time looking for lost places that sometimes I think he forgets about the people who have lost them. He didn’t explain any of this to you?”

“He told me that things _would_ be explained.” She snorted.

“Yeah, look. Let’s get out of here, the ‘band’ is gonna make it hard to talk clearly.”

From the look on her face, obviously she didn’t think one man with a harmonica - no matter how magical and death-metal that harmonica was - counted as a band.

“Where are we gonna go?” she asked.

“Duh, the roof. I’ll show you the way.”

“Can you show me where to get some of what Keyblade is drinking?”

“I _could_.”

She didn’t bother to ask if I would. We passed by some more drunken louts, an even mix of people drinking to forget and people who had never known in the first place.

Stupid. Too many eggs in one basket. What if someone found us?

A couple kissing on the stairs did their best to ignore us as we stepped over their splayed legs, and we ignored them. It got colder as we ascended into the heights of the warehouse; I envied Rose her sweater.

The door at the top was locked. More than locked, it was stuck, cast in chrome and grey. It wasn’t James’ work; it was that stupid clock from downstairs. You can’t mess with time without a price. And what better price to extort than isolation?

“Ugh. Give me - give me a moment.”

It took a moment, reallocating boundaries, before the door burst open. Behind us, perspective had warped. The hallways and staircase had gone grey, too.

The wind was dead, and the sky was all but starless in the glare of the city lights. The edge of a park, in the distance, was about the only thing worth looking at, but it was bleached-out by yellow streetlamps.

“What do you remember from before, Rose?”

“Before what? Before I turned into a... a Sailor Senshi?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, not before your Blossoming. What do you remember about the world _before_?”

“You’ve lost me… wait, what’s even your name?”

She glared at me shrewdly. For a moment, I thought about giving her my Princess name. But I didn’t think that was the right move.

She needed to hear something familiar.

“Samantha. Just Samantha.”

I sat down on the lip at the edge of the building. Rose looked at me like I was crazy.

“I met a girl like you once before, Rose.”

“Somehow, I doubt that.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess… something happened. You were faced with a choice in your life, a hard choice. You felt like if you did the wrong thing, the easy thing, you would never forgive yourself.”

She stared at me, and took a step back.

“But you made the right choice, and suddenly you were - as you put it - a ‘Sailor Senshi.’ But you didn’t know how it happened. You were running on instinct, in a costume you didn’t know how to take off, and now you’re in this maddening new world of magic. Sound about right?”

Finally, she seemed to relax. Her shoulders fell. And she walked closer, sitting down next to me.

“You know less than you think, Sam. But sure, close enough.”

I leaned forward a bit. “Look. The story goes, well… once upon a time, there used to be a Kingdom. Kingdoms, really, but we all call them the Kingdom, singular, for some reason. I think it’s habit from the first muddled Blossomings in Italy.

“And the Kingdom was perfect.”

Rose snorted. “Did they have a Garden of Eden, too?”

“Probably.” I shrugged. “In the Kingdom of Clubs, at least. The story goes, there was a - a Light, in the royal family. There was magic. The Queens and their Princes and Princesses believed so truly that they could change the world with their hope alone.”

“Why only in the royalty-?” Rose cut herself off. “No, I can’t believe I’m asking _that_ question, when I should be asking you how you know all of this. Where were these ‘Kingdoms’?”

“We used to think they were on Atlantis,” I said. “The Gnostics proved us wrong, back in the eighties-”

Rose gave me a piercing look.

“-by which I mean to say, of course, that I don’t know. History isn’t quite clear.”

Rose, somehow, managed to look even less impressed.

“The Kingdom fought with the Darkness, a horrible extradimensional force of corruption. And maybe the Darkness caught them at a bad time - or maybe the Kingdom was tempted into Darkness - but eventually, after centuries of unbroken and glorious victory, the Darkness won.

“The Queens and Princesses were killed, their souls locked away in the world of dreams, and as they dreamed they forgot they had been imprisoned at all. They didn’t wake up and start coming back to the world until the late 1960s.”

Rose was silent, processing that.

“Coming back.”

“Yeah. They - they reincarnated. That’s who most of us were, really. We were the Princes and Princesses, in another life. We dreamed of being royalty, and then we learned our dreams were real. And now we’re fighting the good fight to stop Darkness from running roughshod on our world.”

“I never dreamed like that,” Rose said. Her voice was bitter.

“That’s because you’re not like most of us. You’re Onceborn. This is your first life with the Light of hope in you, and you were chosen, I guess. You were so good that the Light came to you without the royal blood of a Princess.”

“Good, huh?” Rose asked. “I’m not a good person.”

“I think you might be.”

She didn’t argue the point.

“What the hell am I supposed to do?” She asked.

“Whatever you want. Follow your conscience. You’re still who you are, you’re still who you were before. You’re just - more.”

“I’m nothing like I was before…” Rose muttered. “Or, maybe I’m too much like I am before.”

“Are you okay?” I asked her. For a moment, I regretted that we were so close to the edge of the roof.

“I’m fine.” She put her head in her hands. “You said you knew a girl like me once. Was she you?”

“No.” I told her. “It doesn’t matter, now.”

“How can it not?”

“She’s gone now, Rose. Today was her funeral.”

She turned up to look at me. “I’m sorry,” she rasped.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”

Rose smiled, but the smile didn’t reach her sad eyes.

“You’re a good person.”

It wasn’t the first time I had been told that, but I’d never heard it said so absolutely sincerely.

“I try?”

She was quiet.

“I should go.”

“Is that what you want to do?” I asked softly. And something in her seemed to harden.

“It should be.”

 

* * *

 

Parties came and went by. Meetings came and went by. But some things were eternal - some things never changed. Death and taxes and gravity and _love_ and _meaning._

Just like duty. Duty never changed. And, I suppose, that was how I met Rose for the second time.

It started in the early morning fog of unfinished sleep - I hadn’t gone to bed until midnight, too occupied with both my schoolwork and the task of fighting evil. So it was one particularly groggy version of me who woke up to answer the phone ringing.

“...Samantha Minton speaking?” I groaned through gritted teeth, cradling my head with my free hand. “ _How can I help you?_ ”

“It’s _me_ , Peripety,” the voice on the other end whispered. “It’s Charitas.”

That actually had me waking up, crawling out of bed to deal with my morning rat-breath and frizzed-up hair.

“Is something the matter, Charitas?” I asked. But I kind of already knew the answer.

 _Don’t be_ stupid _, Samantha, of course something is the matter, she knows you’re zonked out after that Darkspawn hunt last night… she wouldn’t call you if there wasn’t a problem. She wouldn’t use your Princess name if there wasn’t a Princess problem. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“Something like that…” Charitas muttered. “The twins just got called away by mundane business. On _vacation_ , of all things. I need backup for later today, when I go to clear out the woods, and you’re the closest replacement”

“Shit,” I growled. “And they couldn’t have given me a heads-up ahead of time? No, nevermind. Who else are you recruiting?”

Charitas was silent.

“...you don’t have anyone else to recruit, do you?” I groaned. “Figures.”

“I’m sorry!” she began babbling. “I just - you’re the only one I know - I’m not _like_ you, I can’t - I can’t just _find_ people when I need them-”

I rolled my eyes. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. I know exactly how magnificent I am. How can I expect you to match me?”

“Shut up!” She growled. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”

“I’m just messing with you,” I said, laughing a little harder than I think either of us would have liked. “I’m sorry. I’ll see what I can do to get another recruit, okay?”

Her relief was utterly palpable, even from miles and a phone call away. “Thank you _so_ so much I don’t know how I can ever repay you-”

“It’s _fine_ ,” I stressed. “You can pay me back by paying it forward. Just be as good as you already are, yeah?”

“O-okay,” she stuttered. “I… thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” I said with no small amount of regret. “I’ll call you back later?”

“Yeah…” she murmured. And then I hung up, my phone clattering to the bedstand.

“Dang it.”

I eyed the clock on the wall speculatively, and chewed my lip. I probably wouldn’t have time to take another shower. That was okay, though, right? I had gotten freshened up last night, and I had squeaky clean clothes.

I would be _fine_ , I lied to myself, as I grabbed my phone again, skipped out of my bedroom, and crept down the stairs to the kitchen. No-one else was awake, yet, so it fell to me to leave a message for my worrywart of a mother and a sister.

They didn’t know I was a Princess. That made things… well, complicated. I knew they wanted the best for me, though. Even as I gobbled down some yoghurt out of the fridge, I was rolling up my sleeves and tacking a note to the door of the freezer.

**_Gone for a walk to the park. See you around later tonight._ **

**_-Samantha_ **

It was good enough. Another compromise I was making to get things done in the meager 24 hours of the day. I made a lot of compromises, but hey, I was good at it. Throwing on a coat on to deal with the sharp autumn chill, I bustled out of the door, and I threw my hope into my every step.

I didn’t quite know where I was going, but that was okay. I was a Princess - and my power wasn’t just in conjuring frilly dresses and blasts of power. It was in the more subtle things; the power of the heart, the grace to fall through fate and find that things really _could_ work out in the end.

What should have been pure guesswork became _more_ , and pavement sped by me as I ran through the streets of my beloved city. Cars bustled through the streets, people spilled over the sidewalks, and I kept their lives close to my heart.

I _trusted_ that I would find the girl I was looking for, in the maze of sonder, and I did so.

Rose was sitting down on a bench sheltered beneath a bus stop, half slumped over to the side with almost-flickering eyelids. A mangy-looking cat was curled up at her feet. She looked peaceful, even, a far cry from her bristly persona from several nights ago.

Almost mindlessly, in a trance, I brushed a lock of her crimson hair away from her closed eyes, before sitting down on the bench next to her. And in my trance, I watched her like I watched most people - through half-closed metaphorical eyes.

I hoped she would have a more peaceful awakening than I had, but it probably wasn’t to be.

The clouds curled up overhead, half-formed shapes of atmospheric grief that looked ready to cry with soft rain. Without fanfare or thunder, they began to weep, pounding against the concrete with a steady and miserable force.

I sighed. I _liked_ the rain, even when no-one else did. Where other people got grumpy and sad, I loved the malaise that rain summoned up in me. It was calm. In the middle of a rainstorm, the terrible downpour just made me think of home and hearth and shelter.

Other people didn’t share my opinion. Even under the glass alcove where she and I sat, Rose stirred, and unease swept over her visage.

I mercilessly crushed my maternal instinct to whisper in her ear that everything was going to be okay.

There was a time and a place for everything.

And, I suppose, there was a time and place for her to ‘wake up.’ She stirred, turning to look at me.

“You know I’m awake, don’t you?”

“Yeah. I do. You’re not so good at pretending to sleep.”

“You’re that girl from the meeting, aren’t you?” Rose scowled through dreary and bleary eyes. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I looked away, embarrassed by her bluntness. “Yeah. Uh, hey.”

She rolled her eyes, sitting up and stretching out. “Hey yourself. What are you _doing_ here?”

“Looking for you,” I said simply. “What are _you_ doing here?”

She pushed me away with an idle hand, and I pretended that she wasn’t accidentally groping me as she growled.

“What the hell do you think I’m doing?” she snarked. “I was trying to get some sleep before I have to go home. You _dork_. What do you want with me, Miss Exposition? Is there something you forgot to tell me?”

“It’s Samantha,” I said dryly.

“That’s what I said.” Rose snorted. “What do you want with me, Samantha?”

“I wanted to get some help,” I explained. “And I thought, ‘hey, there was that cute Hopeful I met at the party, why not ask her?’”

She stared at me like I was stupid, and maybe I was.

“No,” she grunted. “Now go away.”

I pouted. “But I came all this way! And it’s raining now! You want me to go home now?”

“Yes,” she said sharply. “I’m not going to help you.”

“But…” I tapped my fingers together. “If you help me, then you’ll be helping people in need!”

“Don’t care.”

Now it was _my_ turn to scowl. “How can you not care?”

“I don’t?” she shrugged.

“Can you really say that?” I asked curiously, without malice.

“I can say anything I damn well please,” she said.

I saw the wince that stole across her face, the wince that she was trying to hide. I pretended that I didn’t.

“Well, okay, then,” I shrugged. “In that case, let me help you!”

She frowned. “I don’t need, want, or deserve your help.”

“Nonsense!” I shot back. “Everyone deserves help!”

“But I still don’t need or want it-”

I cut her off, pressing a finger to her lips. “Now, now, none of that.”

She slapped my hand away, but there was no denying the smile that slithered across her lips.

“Come on! Isn’t there anything you want, that I can help with?”

“You’re probably just trying to butter me up and buy some good will,” she said carefully.

“True!” I admitted. “But not entirely. I care about people! People are good.”

She stared at me for about thirty seconds, a dozen emotions running through her heart. Mostly doubt. Fear. Apprehension.

“You can’t give me what I want,” she ground out. “And I don’t want your help if it’s only because of your duty.”

“That’s the way it is with a lot of things,” I told her. I tried to look her in the eye, even as she shied away. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or sad. “But not with everything. Do you have a Sanctuary to sleep in? To stop Darkspawn from ganking you where you nap?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she got defensive. “What, you think I’m homeless?”

I rolled my eyes. “No, I don’t know if you know how to set up a Sanctuary. I’ve seen too many newbies get their heads bitten off because they don’t know how to defend themselves-”

Now _she_ rolled her eyes. “Geez, alright, you’ve got me pegged pretty good, don’t you?” She sighed deeply. “Fine, fine, I don’t know how to set up a ‘sanctuary’ or anything like that.”

“That’s not good!” I said, not sternly, and grabbed her by the hand, dragging her up. “If you don’t have protections, then you’re going to wake up with Darkspawn breathing down your neck. Come on, show me your place and I’ll help you get it warded.”

“Ha. Ahah. You’re funny, Samantha. You want _me_ to show you _where I live._  You probably don’t even think that’s weird or creepy, do you?”

I chuckled. And I thought of the woman who had taught me everything I knew.

“It wasn’t weird when it was done for me. Maybe I’m just projecting.”

Rose thought about it for a moment, before she started leading me away.

“Who isn't?”

 

* * *

 

 

It was about noon by the time we arrived at her place - a crusty, skeezy old apartment building that looked like it had been eaten by time and shat out by death. The windows in the front doors had been blown out and boarded-up, and the old woman at the front desk looked more like an evil librarian than a nice old grandma.

Not that the two were mutually exclusive.

“Are you here to visit Mister Beckett again?” she asked, looking at the two of us over her glasses.

“Yes, ma’am,” Rose said, her voice sickly sweet. “I brought another friend with me.”

She nodded fractionally, looking at us like we were… _oh_.

But Rose dragged me over to the staircase, past an elevator that wasn’t working anymore. Around the first floor landing, I raised an eyebrow.

“Mister Beckett?” I asked her curiously.

“My… roommate.” Rose looked bitter. “Don’t worry about running into him, he’ll be out for a while.”

Her room was on the seventh floor; she took a long time fishing out a key from the inside of the same hoodie she had been wearing last time. I looked her up and down, and while the shape of her body was obscured by her clothes, I could tell by her rounded face - she probably wasn’t any younger than 15, and not older than 20.

“You look a tiny bit young to have a room-mate.”

She stilled.

“Heh, well, I’m… older than I look.”

“Huh,” I mused, thinking of my 17 years of age - and thinking of all the maturity my Transformed self had. “And I’m younger than I look. Funny how that works out.”

She looked askance to me.

“Not so funny, if you ask me.”

She let herself in before she let me in. There was a flash of denim in the hall closet, before she slammed the door shut.

“There’s some junk food in the fridge if you’re hungry, I guess,” she said, before throwing herself onto the couch. Most of the floor was littered with the detritus of food (and food containers), but there were also more kinds of trash, if you were looking.

“Not expecting company?”

She laughed and coughed. “Even if I had been expecting you to come over I would have left this place dirty anyways. I could never make it look right.”

“I’m sure you could,” I offered.

“I could make it look good,” she said. “I couldn’t make it look right.”

We lapsed into silence as I looked in the refrigerator. Out of a kind of courtesy, I left her food untouched.

“The problem is, of course, that if you want to ward this place you’re going to have to ritually bless it. And, uh, it’s kind of hard to do that if you can’t work up the emotion…”

She sat up a little bit.

“Bless it how, exactly?”

“The ritual with the most metaphysical weight is… well, cleaning up.”

“...fuck.”

I sat down on the couch next to her. “I’m more than willing to pitch in.”

“Why? What do you get out of helping me?” she asked.

“Can’t you conceive of the idea that someone might want to help you for nothing in return?” I asked.

“There’s a difference between imagination and reality, and I think even _you_ know that.”

I was a little too close to her. Her body was warm, up against mine, her shoulder on mine.

“Maybe I’m getting something out of this,” I admitted. “But helping is it’s own reward.”

“And you don’t think you can find a better person to help?” she asked, her voice trembling a bit.

“What makes you think you’re not the best person?”

She didn’t tell me. And maybe I wasn’t the person who had the right to forgive her - but, I forgave her silence nonetheless.

“Give me a moment, Samantha, there’s some stuff that I need to take care of myself.”

I leaned back and closed my eyes, because I wanted to trust her. And even though her ‘moment’ ended up being twenty minutes, it gave me all of the time I needed.

“Peripety, did you find another recruit?”

Charitas’ voice was rather scratchy on the phone.

“Yeah, listen - I’m not going to be able to help you tonight either.”

“What-? But, we need to hunt down the new ‘spawn. This is the time of month when the woods act up!”

“I know. But it’s okay, I know two guys who would be happy to help. Keter and Veter, from the sewing club. They’re good people.”

Charitas was terrified.

“I’ve never met them! Did you - will it be okay?”

“It will be okay,” I said soothingly. “You know where to find them, tell them that Sammy asked for their help. You’ll do great.”

“I - okay. Okay. I can do this. I, Princess Charitas, can do this.”

“Atta girl,” I said, smiling.

She was the one to hang up the phone, surprisingly. But Rose was looking at me a bit funny when she walked in from the other room.

“Why are we _cleaning_ , exactly?” Rose ended up asking me, as we went through the garbage with a fine-toothed comb. Or, _she_ went through the garbage with a fine-toothed comb, as if there were treasures to be found. Diamonds in the rough.

“It’s the belief of the thing, really.” It took a moment for me to marshal my thoughts. “You have to believe that you’re making a better place, for the sanctuary to take. And we could light up some incense and chant… but you wouldn’t _believe_ in it, would you?”

“As opposed to cleaning?”

“Cleaning is self-evident, and seeing is believing. Most of the time.”

“Uh huh.” Rose held a leather-bound book in her hands, and I watched as she paged it open. An empty and bereft photo album greeted her… and she hesitated to throw it out. Her eyes looked down to the album, but she wasn’t seeing it, too busy looking inward at a memory.

“What happened to the photos?” I asked blithely. Rose blinked.

“What-? Oh, you’re here.” She sounded surprised. “Oh, I got rid of them a while ago. They might still be around somewhere, but they sure aren’t _here_.”

I frowned. “But you kept the photo album?”

“Sure. It reminds me of better times.”

Rose shut the album gently, leaving it on the shelf alongside a few other things that she’d deigned to keep - an old stuffed hare, bleeding out cotton, a cracked snow globe that refused to leak, an old pack of playing cards missing the Joker and the Jack of Spades. A few books, annotated in hesitantly contrarian script. A scrambled Rubik’s cube that had probably never been solved, that Rose was sure to play with once before consigning it, too, to the trash, where it would be forgotten.

Rose wouldn’t let me clean the bedroom or bathroom, after all; I took the kitchen. The left side of the sink hadn’t been touched in months, from the look of it. I cleaned it with fire.

“Good thinking,” Rose said. “Just don’t trip the smoke alarm.”

“Do you even have a smoke alarm?”

“Probably not one that actually works. Is that depressing? I guess it’s depressing.”

I shrugged, throwing a cracked porcelain plate out the window, where I heard it fall into an alleyway dumpster (already littered with refuse). Behind me, Rose carted off sweat-yellow socks and cargo pants into the laundry room.

It was almost night-time by the time that we were finished.

“The last step is that we need to put up a picture of your Phylactery up. That’s what seals the deal-”

“My _what_?”

I paused. “Oh, your transformation trinket. The thingy that lets you do a Magical Girl transformation. The one that lets you become a Princess.”

Her face burning with shame, she reached down the neck of her shirt, pulling out a pink pen on a fine gold chain.

“Right, got it.”

There was a poster of Hatsune Miku (“What? She has a nice voice!”) next to the window. I ripped it off of the wall. To cast the sanctifying Charm for her apartment, I needed to draw a representation of Rose’s Phylactery- but I didn’t have a writing implement-

“Hey, Rose, do you have a pen-? Wait. Of course you do.”

My tongue sticking out, I quickly sketched out a picture of the pen on the back of the poster, before sticking it back up on the wall with some of the tacky glue left behind.

Rose held her breath… one second… two seconds… three seconds…

“Is that it?” she asked, obviously supremely disappointed.

“Well, yeah. It’s a blessing, it’s not meant to be razzle-dazzle. But look at it this way - at least now you won’t be attacked by Darkspawn at your own home. And this place is clean now, right?”

“Good to know that I’m safe from monsters of the week,” she drawled. “Do I have to keep it clean? Or can I get back to defiling?”

“Defile away,” I laughed. She folded her arms, paralyzed and silent. I felt it catching on, in me. “So do you - you’re staying here alone, until Beckett gets back?”

“Well yeah.” Rose said it like it was no big deal at all. “It’s not like I have anyone else.”

I didn’t want to go, to leave her. Her hand was clammy, but warm, her fingers to my palm, as she led me to the door.

“I have a question, though.”

“Oh yeah?”

Rose took a deep breath. “I was just wondering. Really. Is there any way to make it easier to stay Transformed? So I can stay this way for as long as I want?”

The question struck me by surprise. I pulled my hand away, raising it to my chin. “Oh. Uh, why do you ask?”

She looked uneasy.

“Your older friend. James said she was in a car accident?”

My smile - my reluctant, sad smile, hiding a pity for her that she didn’t need - faded. “Yeah.”

“Well. I’ve felt how strong I am, how strong I am when I’m Transformed. I know I wouldn’t need to worry about all of those kinds of accidents if I was Transformed all of the time, right?”

She turned her head to face me, tear-tracks running down her cheeks.

“Rose… there are reasons we don’t try to stay Transformed all of the time.”

“I don’t know if I care,” she said. “Goes to show how _stupid_ I am, right? Hah. I don’t want to have to go. There’s nothing here worth staying for, but I don’t want to have to go. I don’t want to _want_ to go. Does that make any sense? I’m sorry.”

Her every word was hollow, but her grief was real, and I hated my sympathy.

“There’s a cost, Rose.”

“What cost could be so awful that I would give up my life?” She laughed, hiccuping and manic.

“Our magic comes from our own beliefs about what is right, and what is wrong. And the kind of belief you would have to hold in your heart, to so completely abandon your mortal body… it doesn’t inspire goodness.”

“I’m not a good person, Samantha,” she replied. “So what do I have to lose?”

“I think you might be. I think you could be.”

She slumped over, defeated.

“I’m sorry for even asking you, Samantha. Just get out.”

Once upon a time, I had asked Mrs. Schmidt about the limits of magic, about the kinds of power that we could have if we didn’t restrict ourselves to the Light of happier emotions - and she’d refused to tell me, and so I’d stumbled alone in the dark, until I thought to weaponize my anger against my enemies. Without a mentor, it was the greatest mistake I had ever made.

“They call it the power of vanity,” I admitted. “I don’t know if that’s what it is, exactly. But the Queen of Mirrors will give the power you’re looking for to anyone who is willing to accept it.”

Rose looked up, ugly hope in her eyes.

“How can I find this Queen?”

I shook my head. “She’ll find _you_. But can I see your pen for a moment?”

With far too little hesitation, considering she was passing over a part of her magic and her soul, she gave me the oddly-familiar pink pen. I took her by the hand, and started writing a phone number.

“If you have any questions - or if you need anything, any help, someone to talk to - you can call me. Always, okay?”

That was the last time I saw Rose in her hoodie, three sizes too large.

 

* * *

 

As surely as the sun set and the moon rose, the Queen of Mirrors was there when Rose went to bed, visible in the reflection she cast against the television screen by her bed.

 _Greetings, fairest one,_ said the Queen to Rose, wearing Rose’s face and speaking with Rose’s voice. Her eyes were silver, and she was wreathed in Rose’s beauty even if Rose was anything but beautiful at the moment. _You’ve come back to me._

“I’m sorry, do you know me?” Rose asked.

_I know everyone. But I know you, too. How could I not? You’re the most important person we know._

The Queen smiled. It was not a nice smile. But Rose had no choice but to persevere, because she knew what she wanted and could never stop wanting even if she tried.

“Samantha says you can give me what I want. But what do you want in return?”

 _Nothing,_ said the Queen, sickly sweet. _Because what I’m giving you is your birthright. There is nothing in this world that does not belong to you, for you are my heir -_ the _heir - and I am the Queen._

“Sure, and I’ve got a bridge to sell you. Samantha also said that you can give your power to anyone.”

_She did say that._

“What do you take from other people, then? The ones who aren’t your ‘heirs’?”

The Queen stepped forward, putting her mirror-fingers against the inside of the reflection.

_There are no ‘other people,’ Rose. Don’t you see?_

“I’m afraid I don’t,” Rose said. But she did see that she had no choice.

There never was any other choice.

Rose slept easily that night, at first, untroubled by thoughts of an old mortal body that she would never have to use again. But then she dreamed of a face with silver eyes and silver tongue, and of yellow light against the slick of a city in the night, and of thorns along her back… and she didn’t sleep easily at all.

She woke up screaming.


End file.
